Under the Old Oak Tree
by Sparrow Silvertongue
Summary: The story of how Salem fell in love with Rosalind.....oneshot, fluffy.


_None of the characters used in this story are, or will ever be, mine. _

Rosalind has always been there. She was one of A'isha's favored, but was rarely the center of attention. When the nest danced as a whole, she was usually in the background. She blended in with the other serpents so well that she appeared no more than a small part of the whole, no more than a single limb of a thousand-armed starfish. Rosalind had a way of escaping attention, unless one was focused upon finding her. Salem never had a reason to notice Rosalind, until now.

He had a special place, a tall oak tree, and ancient, with broad, sturdy limbs. The foliage shielded him from those looking up from the ground and those looking down from the sky. Whenever he needed to escape from the hustle and bustle of the court or the scandalous gossip of the nest, he would shift to his sleek cobra form and slither silently up the tree, using shadows to camouflage his stark black scales.

One morning, the stresses of court were too much, and Salem couldn't stand the claustrophobia of the nest, and he escaped to his old oak tree. The sun shining through the newborn spring leaves bathed him in a pale gold-green light, and Salem felt his fears drift away. Slowly, he dozed off, nestled in the crook of a branch which cradled him as a mother cradles her child.

Salem awoke slowly to the sound of a girl's voice humming a familiar tune. The sun has traversed the afternoon sky while he had been asleep, and now hovered above the western horizon, preparing to sink below. A flash of fiery red-gold hair caught his eye, and he recognized Rosalind. She was doing a series of spectacular acrobatics through the branches of the tree, improvising upon the gracefully seductive Namir'da. Salem had to admire her boldness, as not many serpents dared to climb this high in the trees. He was astounded by her talent; he had always known she was a good dancer, because A'isha would not favor her if Rosalind was not worth the time, but he had never really noticed her incredible aptitude for dancing. It was almost as though the ancient magic of the Dasi flowed through her and guided her limbs. Rosalind seemed controlled by the dance, instead of the other way around. Salem could almost see the ancient sands of Egypt surrounding him, the wind blowing stinging particles into his eyes. He could feel the pounding rhythm of Maeve's seductive dance, could sense Leben's magic as he granted to Maeve the second form of a pearly white viper. The myth was primeval, yet as Rosalind danced, she seemed to call it into the present.

The dance came to an end, and Salem let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. Moving slowly, he leaped to the branch Rosalind stood upon.

She felt the vibration and turned, alarmed. When she saw who it was, Rosalind nodded respectfully. "I hope I didn't disturb you, my lord," she said.

Salem was too stunned to reply for a few seconds. When he had regained his composure, he laughed. "Disturb me? With such beautiful dancing? Impossible!" he exclaimed.

Salem drew closer to her. "Where did you learn those tricks? A'isha certainly never taught them to me, and I like to think I am as much in her favor as you are."

"I taught myself," replied Rosalind proudly. "I was just playing around one day, and I heard the Namir'da being practiced. I sort of...automatically started dancing, adding flips every now and then. It was fun, nothing serious."

Salem took another step closer, close enough for him to reach out and touch her sweet-smelling hair. He did so, and wound the gleaming tresses around his fingers.

In unison, he and Rosalind stepped closer to the trunk, until her back hit the rough bark of the oak.

"It was spectacular," whispered Salem, then he leaned forward to kiss her. She responded most passionately.

"I—I think—we'd better—get down," panted Rosalind, pushing Salem's lips away from her own.

Salem agreed, understanding the meaning behind her words.

Later that night, Salem lay spent, Rosalind encircled in his arms, her soft skin silk against his. The ancient oak tree towered over them, protecting them from outsiders' prying eyes. The moon sailed above them, brushing Rosalind's thick curls of hair with silver. Salem kissed her forehead one last time. Too soon the morning would come, with its harsh bright light and grating sounds, but for now, Salem was content. He drifted to sleep, a smile on his lips.


End file.
